


Birds of a Feather

by agoodpersonrose



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Crack Treated Seriously, David Attenborough Documentaries, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Grinding, Humor, Husbands, Kissing, Laughter During Sex, M/M, Nature Lover David Rose, Omg David Attenborough is a character tag, Patrick Brewer is Thirsty, Patrick Brewer loves David Rose, Post-Canon, Silly Sex, That's so funny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-14 03:35:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29785848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agoodpersonrose/pseuds/agoodpersonrose
Summary: Patrick smiles lewdly at his husband. “I believe this is what Mr Attenborough would call,” he lowers his voice in a bad imitation of the documentary narrator, “the traditional mating call of the wild Brewer.”
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 26
Kudos: 166





	Birds of a Feather

It’s a quiet evening in the Brewer-Rose cottage. The dishes have been cleaned, the counters have been wiped, and David and Patrick are settling down to watch a nature documentary.

And Patrick’s husband is ignoring him.

He’s used all the usual signals, sitting just slightly closer than usual on their plush grey couch, his hand on David’s knee, drifting up and down, up and down, getting closer and closer to where he knows David will already be starting to--

“Mm, his voice is so calming,” David hums, snuggling up to Patrick’s arm and rendering it immobile, which is kind of the opposite to what he had been aiming for. “It’s like butter and sugar and flour all mixed in together,” he hesitates a second. “And chocolate chips.”

Patrick bites down on a smile and looks down at his husband, who is grinning knowingly up at him from where his cheek is pressed against Patrick’s arm. “You just want the cookies I made earlier, don’t you?”

“Well, if you’re offering.”

“Why don’t you get them yourself? They’re just on the counter.”

“Because I want ice cream with them, and that will take too long, and then I’ll miss something,” David pouts though his eyes are glittering humorously as Patrick sighs, mainly for effect, and frees himself from David’s grip.

“Coming right up,” he says, pushing himself up off the couch and heading into the kitchen. He sets out two wide bowls, places two freshly baked cookies from the rack in them and starts scooping with their fancy heated ice cream scoop that Ray had bought them as a wedding gift.

When he returns to their living room, David’s eyes remain stuck on the TV screen and not on his husband at all.

“What did I miss?” Patrick asks, sitting close again and placing his arm along the back of the couch as he hands David his bowl.

“Mm,” David hums immediately taking a huge scoop of dessert and talking through his mouthful. “These fish look like they’re the same species, but they’re not. They have fancy cameras and can see their special colour patterns.”

Patrick frowns. “They look identical,” he says, staring at the two tiny yellow fish, exactly the same shape and with the same markings.

“Yeah, but they’re not. We just can’t see it with our normal eyes because of our boring three cones.” That prompts David to frown, and he looks thoughtful for a minute, staring down at his bowl.

“I’m not getting you an ice cream cone, David, I already gave you two cookies!” Patrick exclaims, already guessing where his mind is going and earning a disgruntled scowl in response.

“That’s no way to treat your husband,” David grumbles, pretending to shuffle away but actually ending up pressed further into Patrick’s side. “If I was that fish, I would have left you for the other sexy colourful fish.”

“You could never live under the sea,” Patrick replies smartly. “Think of the havoc the salt water would do to your hair.”

“Mm, don’t joke about that, now shush, I’m watching the show.”

Patrick makes a low rumbling noise as David shushes him again, and then visibly has to restrain himself from opening his mouth to make another comment. He holds out for all of a minute, before finally breaking.

“I saw a video once of this fanged fish banging shells open with a rock.”

“Yes, I know, you have sent it to me three times,” Patrick says, nodding, and remembering the day at the store on his own, when David had blown up his phone asking what he thought of it, and if he thought there could ever be a fish uprising now that they had learned to use tools.

“It’s not my fault you don’t appreciate mother nature for all of its marvels.”

“If you wanted to talk about animals so much, David, why don’t you text Ted?”

David sighs forlornly. “He already knew about it, so he didn’t find it very interesting,” he says, pouting. “And he said it was actually pretty common for fish to use tools, and then something about their brains. Then he sent me a Little Mermaid gif and told me it was _‘fin-tastic’_ to hear from me.”

Patrick tuts and reaches over to put his empty ice cream bowl on the coffee table, stacking David’s on top of it when he holds his own out in a silent request. “That sounds traumatising for you.”

“It was.”

“Well, don’t worry, you’re safe now,” Patrick grins as David rolls his eyes but still leans back in to tuck himself under Patrick’s arm when he sits back again.

Patrick zones out for a while as the documentary goes on, switching to various different animals not fast enough for his liking, but David remains enthralled, making low hums in his throat of interest, not dissimilar to those he makes in the bedroom, which just serves to make Patrick’s mood from earlier return.

It doesn’t help that David is pressed so close to him, the fingers of his right-hand fiddling with the inside seam of Patrick’s grey sweatpants, clutching the fabric tight in his fist whenever one of his precious animals is in peril, and then rubbing it back into place whenever the tense moment has passed.

David actually coos at a shot of some hummingbirds seeming to levitate in thin air, drinking delicately out of flowers. But Patrick is too distracted by his husband’s lips, which are pursed together as he focuses all his attention on the screen.

Usually, Patrick would take any opportunity to kiss those soft lips. But if David loves anything more than Patrick, and there isn’t much that makes that list, it would be his nature documentaries. Patrick knows he will have to work harder than that to get his husband to pay attention to him.

Patrick scoffs as the male hummingbird puffs up its feathers and starts a mating dance; his bright purple feathers glowing in the sunlight as the brown female bird moves closer and closer, a curious expression on her face.

“Be right back,” Patrick whispers, kissing David’s forehead and wriggling out of his embrace even as David whines and reaches after him.

“Mm-no.”

“I won’t be a second, David.”

David ends up flopped across Patrick’s spot on the couch but doesn’t seem that upset with it in the end, curling against Patrick’s back support cushion and propping himself up so that he can still see the screen.

Patrick rushes upstairs, heading straight for the bedroom and stripping his boring blue and grey clothes. He digs through the underwear drawer for a while, making a sound of accomplishment as he yanks out the rainbow tie-dye swimming shorts that he had bought to annoy David last year while visiting his parents’ holiday cabin.

Next, he goes to the bottom of the closet and roots through the old cardboard box there, finding, as expected, the rainbow flag David had gotten him at a stall at Toronto pride. The photo sits propped up on the chest of drawers by the wall; David throwing up a peace sign as Patrick kisses his cheek joyfully, and Patrick looks at it carefully as he ties the fabric around his neck like a cape to perfectly clash with the swimming shorts.

Finally, he steps over the cat snoozing on the bottom step, and heads back into the living room where David has extended his long limbs across the couch.

“Patrick come look!” David calls, hearing his footsteps. “The fiddling crabs are scissoring with their claws to fight. It’s pretty vicious honestly. I’d be intimidated and I’m like, ten times the size of them.”

Patrick grins and stays silent, prompting David to frown and peer over the back of the couch at him. David’s face goes through a whole series of emotions; surprise, horror, elation, and finally settles on amusement.

“What do we have here?” he asks slyly.

Patrick fluffs up his rainbow cape and smiles lewdly at his husband. “I believe this is what Mr Attenborough would call,” he lowers his voice in a bad imitation of the documentary narrator, “the traditional mating call of the wild Brewer.”

“Oh, I think it was a dance,” David says nodding, his face twitching as he tries desperately not to betray the hilarity of the situation.

“You want a dance?”

“Mhm, I think I want a dance. Come and dance, baby.”

Patrick huffs a little and rounds the couch. He blows a quick breath out of his mouth at the awkwardness of the situation and then immediately starts strutting back and forth in a gross imitation of a chicken.

He wiggles his cape around so that it flutters against his bare chest, hiding and then revealing himself in a teasing pattern of moves. His face is flushed almost bright red in embarrassment, but David is beaming, and _finally_ his gaze is directly on Patrick.

By the time Patrick’s breaths are coming in short pants, David has tears in his eyes from laughing so hard as he shakes his head and reaches out, gripping Patrick’s hips covered only by the slippery material to stop him from moving.

 _“At last, his colours have persuaded her, and just in time; the tide is coming in fast as the Fiddler Crabs retreat into their burrow,”_ the presenter on the television announces just as Patrick finally stops, his chest heaving both from the movement and the laughter.

“That’s _definitely_ not going to help you get a mate.”

“Really, David?” Patrick asks, grinning wildly and almost overflowing with joy as he climbs up and straddles David’s lap, pushing him back against the sofa cushions as he does so. “Because I heard that Hummingbirds mate for life.”

David pauses, looking conflicted, but finally breaks. “That’s actually not true at all.”

“No? Well, you know what animals _do_ mate for life?”

“Hmm? Which animals?”

“Us,” Patrick murmurs against his lips. They kiss lazily for a few moments, David’s smile pressed consistently against Patrick’s mouth until finally he softens his lips and gives in to the intrusion of Patrick’s tongue, sucking it just slightly and hitching him up higher in his lap as he does so.

Patrick grins down on his husband and revels in the high-pitched moan he gets in response.

“How tight did you tie this?” David mumbles, and Patrick pulls back to find him tugging desperately at the knot in the flag around his neck, trying to get it loose. “I don’t think it was this difficult for the birds.”

“The birds weren’t wearing clothes, David.”

“Mm, that’s a good idea, you should do that again with nothing on,” David whispers, crowing in delight as the rainbow fabric _finally_ drops and falls to the floor in a heap.

“Yeah?” Patrick asks, standing up quickly to shuck the swimming shorts off, which David immediately grabs and throws as far as he can in the opposite direction. “--What?” Patrick blurts out but David just shrugs.

“You know how I feel about those shorts.”

Patrick grins as he watches David turn back to face him, his eyes immediately dropping to look at his cock with an enthused expression.

“Well, I don’t think the birds are packing _that._ ”

“You have to stop comparing my dick to random animals, David. It’s really not hot.”

“But it’s so _funny,_ ” David whines as Patrick climbs back onto him, nevertheless. “And I said a horse just three days ago, _that_ is a compliment--”

“Oh my God, you’re ridiculous,” Patrick laughs, but it quickly turns to a moan as his next grind sends a fission of heat up his spine. David grabs his ass and pulls him down harder against him as he grinds up to meet him. “Oh God, do that again.”

“Yeah. Yeah--”

Patrick buries his face in David’s neck as he grinds up and down against David’s sweatpants clad thighs. He presses wet kisses along the skin there, skating his teeth out across the sensitive skin and biting down, earning a loud keening noise in return.

“Get the- get the thing--” David mumbles, slapping his hand against Patrick’s arm and pushing at him to lean over and open the drawer of the side table. He pulls out an almost empty bottle of lube, wincing and holding it up.

“Remind me to add this to the shopping list?”

“Yeah, yeah, now just--” David wiggles impatiently where he’s trapped against the couch cushions by the body of his husband. “Hurry up, do the thing,” he says, staring past Patrick’s shoulder.

“Okay,” Patrick murmurs, kissing him again. “I’m doing the thing.”

“Oh my God, Patrick,” David whines, and Patrick hums in agreement, clicking the cap of the lube bottle and pulling David free from his sweatpants. “So cute.”

This makes Patrick pause. Not that he’s averse to his husband calling him cute; it happens quite often, generally in the evenings when he’s trying to get David to sleep earlier because he’s basically an 80-year-old and gets tired earlier and earlier every night.

But in this context? When Patrick was about to start working on an extraordinary orgasm for said husband? It just doesn’t fit.

Patrick’s gaze meets David, who has the good nature to look sheepish as Patrick wiggles around to peer over his own shoulder and look at the screen, where two tiny red frogs have just started fighting each other.

“He said they’re about the size of a fingernail!” David exclaims when Patrick rounds on him with an accusatory glare. “Look!”

David reaches for Patrick’s hand, forgetting that it’s covered in lube, and points to his fingernail as if to emphasise his point.

“So, tiny!”

“Right,” Patrick nods, climbing off from David’s lap and not even being chased; David’s attention already drawn back to the screen where some butterflies are now fluttering around aimlessly, David staring intently at them, and listening to the narrator’s voice. “You come and find me when you’re finished getting off to a bunch of insects,” he says as he grabs the swimming shorts from the floor by the door and heads out towards the stairs.

“Ew, Patrick,” David’s disgruntled voice follows him down the hall, and then, quieter, under his breath. “Oh my God no don’t go that way; the octopus is _lurking_ there!”

**Author's Note:**

> I would like to formally apologise for this, the dumbest fic I have ever written. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed! Let me know what you thought in the comments! 🕊


End file.
